


Woven Indelibly

by odheirre



Category: Carpe Noctem, Vampire: The Masquerade, World of Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Mage, The Echo Chamber, more characters you haven't heard of, sun cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odheirre/pseuds/odheirre
Summary: Fallout from the mortal world.





	Woven Indelibly

Bookworm sat at the table, her hands palm down on the table and shaking slightly, breathing heavily in gasps, staring at some unknown point. Ten years ago, Methuselah would have hugged her, tried to comfort her, but now he just stood by the refrigerator, waiting. Bookworm wasn’t wearing makeup, wasn’t wearing her “because witches always wear a hat” hat. Methuselah thought, it must be bad. Her face showed her age, and her hair was streaked with grey. Methuselah thought, magic aged all of us, and Bookworm and I were two of the oldest in the Network. Saw many things together. They always had keys to their respective apartments during all the moves, a habit that was easy to keep, and she had let herself in. Paul Simon started singing on the radio, the only thing that cut through the silence.

Bookworm focused on Methuselah. “Trick’s been murdered.”

Methuselah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “I see.” He opened the refrigerator and freezer, took out the special ice bucket and water with lemon. He took out two glass goblets, added four cubes of ice to each glass, and filled each with water. He set both glasses equidistant from Bookworm.

She took one of the glasses and almost drank first. She was that far gone in her thoughts, Methuselah thought. “Meth, I’m too far tired and frazzled to check for poison.” As a response, Methuselah took a long sip from the remaining goblet. Bookworm sipped from her own glass. “So, are we celebrating or mourning? I still don’t know.” _Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance / Everybody thinks it’s true._

“Merely acknowledging the inevitable. Trick was a firebrand and an idealist, a combination of traits that was going to get him killed. What finally killed him?”

“Vampires. He said it was time that humans started taking the city back, all but declared open war on them once he got political power and the sun crystal. They raided his house, destroyed the crystal, and shot him. I heard he took one or two of them down in the process, but it was messy.”

“He never figured out his place on the food chain, at least until it was too late.”

“Don’t you think he had a point, though? Earth is for the mortals. Not the werewolves, not the vampires, not the fae.”

“I’m much older than you. I’ve gotten that way by knowing my place. He had two apprentices?” Methuselah met them at one of the meetings. One guy, one girl, and nothing much beyond that stuck out.

“Had. They either were killed or decided that discretion was the better part of valor.”

“Is his house safe?”

“God no. Police scrubbed the place. He’s the assistant to the mayor, remember?” We stayed out of our mundane lives, Methuselah thought, to the point where I didn’t remember Bookworm’s real name, and she probably didn’t remember mine. “Plus I’m sure the vampires are watching his house, and I heard that Trick dealt with the Fae to create the crystal, so they probably have their eyes on him. But, he kept most of his grimoires in his remote space or distributed with the Network, so we don’t have to do any cleanup. Nothing’s really lost.”

“Nothing lost except his knowledge. He was a real pioneer with the technical work.”

She took another sip of water. “You know what he was working on?” A few months ago, six of the Network received a shoebox from Trick, floppy disks and handwritten notes with passwords and code. Bookworm and Methuselah compared the contents; it looked like identical copies, although they didn’t do anything with the disks. Methuselah didn’t even own a computer. “After we talked about it, I just filed his notes away in the Library. Haven’t given them a second thought until now.”

“I think they had to do with his grand order. Project Babylon? Trying to make a world a better place for everyone where there was no discord, no pain.”

“Because why bother trying to help people. That’s your motto, right?” They sat in silence, Bookworm sipping her drink slowly. Methuselah reached for his drink subconsciously, then paused and dropped his hand. _Conversations hard and wild._

Methuselah broke the silence. “So, what now? Are you going to pick up where he left off?”

“Are you?”

He laughed. “Hell, no. Not my skillset. Anyway, he would have put it in motion it if he got it working, so just let his half-finished project fade into oblivion. Technology magic is destined to be ephemeral. Dead end.”

“You can’t mean that.” Another pause. “I don’t think I can make heads or tails of it either, but I need to record what he did for archival sake, at least. Someone else may want to pick up his work. It may lead to something better.”

“Ever the archivist. Remember when that poor Russian businessman yelled for help, and all you wanted to do was record his death? The look on his face...”

“Neither of us saw magic like that before.” Bookworm raised her glass, and Methuselah mirrored her response. “To memories then.” She drained her glass. When Methuselah set his down, untouched, she looked at her own goblet. _But from time to time, he makes her laugh._ Bookworm opened her mouth but said nothing. Her eyes darted around, and she put a hand to her throat.

“All you would do is bring up spells whose sole purpose is setting us against the natural order, and they would cause the natural order to come crashing into us all.” Bookworm’s skin was turning blue, and she fell out of her chair, gasping noiselessly. Methuselah took his drink and dumped it in the sink. “You think there’s some golden plateau where some magic spell will elevate mortals above everyone else, make world hunger and disease and anguish go away, and I’ve lived long enough that I know that’s not going to happen. This is our lot, and to rail against it is to invite destruction. I’m not going to let your hubris bring us all down. The poison was in the ice, by the way. Wouldn’t hurt anyone until it melted and mixed with the water. Lemon masks the taste.” Bookworm stopped struggling, and her eyes finally closed. “It’s either you or me, and as much as I like you, I like me better. It was a pleasure knowing you, Bookworm.” He whispered a spell to preserve her essence, to be used later. Her death would not go to waste. _The thought that life could be better / Is woven indelibly / Into our hearts / And our brains._

**Author's Note:**

> <http://www.paulsimon.com/track/train-in-the-distance-5/>


End file.
